So long, New York
[A Year in New York by Andy Clancy]
Thoughts on Moving...
I knew from my first day here that New York wasn’t my tribe but that doesn't make it easy to leave. I know I'll always miss this place and I truly think a handful of New York years should be a prerequisite for life.
And I want (need!) to remember that this city is where I:
Played hooky on a Monday afternoon. Sat on a bench in Brooklyn Bridge Park slicing Camembert with a plastic knife, drinking champagne out of a paper bag, and singing happy birthday.
Lived alongside caricatures. Hey 24-year-old girl laying in Sheep's Meadow in late June: those shorts are really short. Why are you so drunk? How are you so drunk? Hey First Date: Yes, I do understand how a hedge fund works. Please stop winking at me. Hey dad at a Wainscott BBQ: I am, in fact, not interested in discussing your favorite brand of jeans. How do you get your hair to be so shiny? Please stop winking at me.
Met more of my people. I will carry them with me wherever I go and they'll have me on their team as long as they'd like. I love my life so much and it’s because of the people in it.
Found a Sunday home in Redeemer. Turned to God more than I ever have and strove daily to accept grace.
Shared Paulie Gee's with a friend on a frozen winter night. Swirled wine around in juice glasses and concluded that Seasonal Depression is a real thing.
Served breakfast on Saturdays at Father's Heart. Feeding 700 people in an hour and a half is an actual miracle.
Ate everything. Grocery shopped where some aisles were more narrow than the carts. Fed myself and my friends, learning how brew good coffee, how to frost a layer cake. Pasta from Brucie. Ricotta from Battersby. Oysters off Arthur Ave slurped while sitting on a curb resting sunburnt knees. Post-run Saturday morning coffee from the to-go counter at Lafayette. The annual trek to DiFara. Weekends at Smorg before it got so huge. A doughnut is a perfectly good reason to go to Bay Ridge and a burger is worth the train to Woodside.
Learned how to walk on a city street. Pull over to use your phone. Avoid couples, backpacks, and scaffolding. Night walks. Bridge walks. Up and down 5th avenue in Park Slope one hundred thousand times. All the way around the perimeter of Manhattan. One night I passed the Dizzy's on President and saw a cellist playing for one couple while they spun in circles with their eyes closed. My proudest NYC accomplishment is that I walked the shit out of this city.
Ran! Over bridges. In and around the soccer fields on Chrystie. Back and forth to the water. All the way up to the GW Bridge. Home from work. The marathon! Running because I could (can!).
Watched the sun rise after one ordinary Saturday night a few weeks after I moved here. "Hurry. We can make it! Let's GO!" Sprinting east with sweaty hair stuck to my neck, sandals smacking against the sidewalk, thinking it was the best thing.
Never took cabs. Fell asleep on the B train and wound up uncomfortably far from home. Sweaty faces in the summer and delays in winter. Recognized regulars: the man who belts on about lesbians ruining the world, mariachi bands on Sunday mornings, the era of the Showtime dancers. Had a rat run over my feet on the 14th street platform. The MTA: great and horrible.
Ate dinner in Chinatown on Valentine's Day. Stopped to tilt my face up at falling snow on the walk from the train and stood completely still for a few minutes.
Dated a really nice guy but it didn't work out. Laid on my roof propped up on elbows before it turned chilly. Pointing out other rooftops and making plans we decided to forget.
Went to an underground Jamaican dance club on a first (and last) date. Went on a date with someone who didn't "believe in banks.” Went on a three dates with someone who told me I’d make a "perfect second wife." Still trying to figure out what that means.
Cared for children I count as my own. Rocked a six-month-old through the night weekend over weekend and then she went and turned 5 on me. And her brother, we met the year of his Harry Potter-themed birthday party. Now he's a few cheeseburgers away from my height, spends his Saturdays in Connecticut playing water polo, and tells me jokes he learned while watching reruns of The Office. I want them to grow big and strong and be kind and confident.
Thought about disparity every time I stepped outside. Babysat for a man who could close a $28 billion deal but couldn't tie his four-year-old's hair bow and didn't care to learn. Saw a man sleeping outside a cafe where I'd just spent $16.60 on an almond milk matcha latte and avocado toast.
Had my first real job. Learned how to write a budget and a retirement plan. Worked seven days a week for two years straight.
Fainted on the 4 train.
Got outta town. Trained to Beacon and Coldspring and New Jersey. Drove out to Sagaponeck just to sit on the beach. Rode the Staten Island Ferry because it was free.
Realized that only in New York will you:
1. Truly appreciate the gift that is a clean and readily available public restroom. (Pro tip: Bed, Bath & Beyond in Flatiron, Nordstrom Rack in Union Square, and the Shops at Columbus Circle)
2. Consider going to naked yoga because you have Wednesday night free (note: consider)
3. Find it easier to cry on a stranger's stoop than in your own living room
4. Meet a terribly famous basketball player in a dive bar and spend the night calling him the wrong name. Drink his beer and let him say nice things to you with his hand permastuck to your lower back
5. Understand that the intersection of an evangelist, a crack pipe, and a partially dressed person is a New York City subway car
6. Take nearly six years to commit the city's commandments to memory: be quicker, look up, be choosy about the lines you stand in, and say thank you
That's New York. Someone at the party jonesing for Grace Jones and someone jonesing for grace.
THANK YOU FOR ALL (ALL!) OF IT
